The year was 1999. I had just finished an extended thesis which was a requirement to complete my coursework towards a degree in Architecture. I had got married 2 years prior to that, and my software engineer husband had just moved from Singapore to Durham, North Carolina. It had been a long distance marriage that was on rocky territory, and my mind was apprehensive about the future, if happiness was even possible in the arrangement I had got into thoughtlessly and naively. In the midst of many uncertainties, anxieties, there was also a nervous excitement to meet my future on my own, away from the protective and controlling gaze of my parents, in a strange, new land that had always been a dream of mine to visit.
I visited my hometown, my birthplace, where the bulk of my relatives live, in order to bid farewell to everyone, a few days before the scheduled date of departure. My grandfather, my dad’s father was 83 then, and had undergone surgery to remove cancer from his colon a few months before. But further tests had suggested that the cancer had metastasized to his liver. Still, during that visit, he looked his usual self in his tall and lean body, thin hair on a mostly bald head. He would be seen in one of his crisp and light colored shirts, over his lungi, wrapped around his waist. He had the habit of sitting on a chair with his legs extended out and resting on the window sill, often seen in this pose while reading a magazine or a book in his room. A lot of women, including some of my father’s aunts were visiting, and they had gone up to his room to pay him their respects. I had accompanied them. After the customary greetings and the polite enquiries, the topic returned to my imminent journey. One of the aunts asked me about the flight details and how long it would take. I told them that it was a 36 hour long journey including a very long layover at Frankfurt. I had never traveled anywhere that far by myself, and was very nervous inside, even though I kept it guarded and concealed. But the aunt whose life was confined to the small town and who had not traveled much at all, was more forthright, and she said aloud, “ You have to go all that distance and time all alone?!” I could not help but nod my head. My grandfather, mostly a quiet person who talked minimally, who was still facing the window, did not turn his head towards the aunt who spoke, but replied as if talking to himself, “What is the big deal there? Don’t we journey all alone after our death?”
A spell of silence fell over the room as the rest of us processed it in light of his condition. There he was looking unperturbed and reading a book, but we realized that death was looming large in his mind. And we saw it too. My journey to America truly seemed insignificant.
I landed in United Sates one evening in August, and my grandfather passed away in December of the same year. That day in his room is my last vivid memory of my grandfather, always a man of reserve, quiet emotions, and a lot of courage. I wish I had spent more time with him and had gained from his wisdom. It’s been 21 years since his death as well as my arrival here. My marriage survived and thrived in the kindness and understanding that I found in my husband, who gave me the space and support to understand my own mind, as well as to adapt to a new place and culture. Much like my own grandmother had found in my grandfather as she battled her psychological ailments. It is easy to experience loneliness in this world, with a pace of life that makes everything look fleeting, but my grandfather’s words still bring perspective, and a reminder that here and now is but a crossroads before the final destination.
timeless pursuits 